Author: Sheri Pardini

Several weeks ago I was listening to the radio in my car, and heard a song that was new to me on my way home from the grocery store. I wasn’t paying all that much attention to it, as traffic was demanding the lion’s share of my focus. It was a pleasant tune, but the lyrics took a weird turn. What did he say? That can’t be right, can it? Did I misunderstand? I turned it up. But the volume of the radio was not the solution. I heard the same words of that refrain again, only louder this time. “Sausage and roll…” What the heck? That doesn’t even make sense!

I looked at the heads up display on the car’s dash, hoping to catch the name of the artist and the title of the song. I was only a few blocks from home, which was fortunate, otherwise there would not be a chance on God’s green earth that I would remember the name of either by the time I got there. YouTube to the rescue! I needed to look it up, because “Sausage and roll” was ridiculous! Those of you that are country fans will know this song, because it has been at the top of the chart for far too many weeks now. Not that it isn’t a good song, but it is played at least twice every hour, all day, every day! Which by the way DJs, is not appreciated by anyone! Don’t care how popular it is! Nobody wants to hear a song over and over again unless you’re 3!

Turns out what I heard as “Sausage and roll” was in reality, “Thought You Should Know”. It’s hard to image how these two very different lines could be confused with each other, but trust me, it can be done. When you take Morgan Wallen, who has a fine voice, but who slides his words into each other, because it’s….well music, there can be a lot of rolling and bumping around of sounds, until in your head one word becomes another. I asked my daughter, son-in-law, and husband to listen to it with me to see if they heard the same thing I did. Mariah pulled it up on her television, but because that in itself is a delicate dance between one controller that you click, and another controller which you scroll, I didn’t know how to do that! Big surprise. I had to tell her the title. Consequently, when they listened to it they heard the correct version of the refrain. When I told them I heard “Sausage and roll” they laughed, yet asked to listened again. This time, unanimously they heard “Sausage and roll”, even though they knew that was wrong. That song is played incessantly, and still “Sausage and roll” is all I ever hear, until I force myself to form the right words in my head. My husband, Kim, can now only hear it my convoluted way too. Doesn’t matter that we know the words are, “Thought you should know”. Forever our ears will hear, “Sausage and roll”. Can’t help it.

Why is it we oftentimes hear things that are not there, but they sound so strikingly clear? It probably happens more often with musical lyrics than anything else. I believed for the longest time “Hot Blooded”, by Foreigner was “Hot butter….” I sang it like that for I don’t know how many years. Guess no one was listening. Hmmm! More likely I don’t make a habit of singing when anyone is around to listen, except God. Good thing! Even now I have to think about it to get it right. Another one is the chorus to “Fancy Like”, by Walker Hayes. You know it as the Applebee’s song. Cute song, catchy tune, easy to tap your toes to, but can be a bit of a tongue twister. I heard, “…whipped cream on the tot-toe…” like in potato and thought, gross! Who would put whipped cream on a potato? There’s another line in that song that caused my ears to do a double take, because I was darn sure you couldn’t say that on the radio. I had better take a look at those lyrics! Turns out my tot-toe was, “…whipped cream on the top too…”. The other line I heard wasn’t spot on either, and we will leave it at that. Kim heard the correct lyrics without any help from YouTube, until I sowed the seeds of influence in his brain. He now hears the bogus version as well, proving that fiction might actually be more persuasive than truth. Let that sink in!

I’m not the only one who sings along with my own version of the hits. Mariah admitted to singing, “Save the whales….” until her husband, Dusty, looked at her, listened closely to what she was singing and said, “It’s not whales, it’s world! Save the World!” Well now, that makes a difference. Though, when I watched the music video for this one I wished it had been about saving whales. Good message, but a little dark.

My granddaughter tells me I’m singing “Row, row, row your boat” wrong. That was a surprise to me! I’ve been singing this one since I was a kid. I was pretty sure I had it down. She cheerfully sings “…life’s a butter dream.” Butter dream? I don’t know what a butter dream is, but I like it! It makes me smile. If she happens to hear me singing, “….life is but a dream”, she will stop singing to set me straight, and get me back on track. If I continue the way it was written she’ll suggest I don’t sing along at all. Okay! I sing it her way. By the time she outgrows that song I will no longer know the real words, though I hope I’m around when she discovers them on her own. I would love to see the look in her eyes, and share that grin of revelation with her.

For whatever reason our ears hear what they hear. There is probably a science to it, though I don’t know what it is. You can always correct your alternate lyrics, or be like my granddaughter and keep them the way you like them best. Your choice. When I asked my son, Ben, what lyrics he always get wrong he responded directly, “The words I’m singing are the right words.” Though I can’t prove it, I’ll bet they aren’t!

New Year’s Eve! We made it! The last celebration of 2022 before it’s over. Our planned celebration got derailed when half the family came down with head colds over Christmas. Only two of us are still standing here on the west side, and we’re not interested in partying with “Snotty”, “Coughing”, and “Sneezy”. Oh well, I have never been big on staying up until midnight to make sure the new year makes it here. What’s the plan if it doesn’t? Every time I have gone to bed before the official end of the year, the New Year has been there waiting for me in the morning. Whew! Who knew it could find its way without the drunken reveling of civilization to usher it in? Remember the eve of 2000, and the quivering fear of Y2K? That midnight I was awake, but it was a little anti-climatic as millenniums go. I was hoping for a little something more, but considering what “they” were predicting, I should be happy it turned out to be a bust.

Tonight my husband, Kim, and I will watch the sunset for the last time in 2022 from our lanai, overlooking the pond. In the morning, we will watch the sunrise on the first day of 2023 from the same place. We talked about going to the beach, but let’s face it, I’m lazy! Naples is still working on cleaning up the mess Hurricane Ian made, and now the beaches have limited access. Limited access translates to limited parking. With the number of holiday visitors in town, plus snowbirds, and in general how many people flock to the beach to watch the sunset on any given day, parking most likely will be challenging. I’m sure we could find something several blocks away, and yes I could walk, but I’m just not that invested.

I am usually up before the sun, so watching the sunrise is not a problem, but from the beach means I have to get dressed! Before coffee?! That doesn’t even sound like me! Besides, the beach faces west. We’d need to turn our backs to the water to see the sunrise, so what’s the point?! I can see a perfectly good sunrise from my lanai, in my pajamas if I want, and yes I want! Tonight I will raise a glass of wine to toast the sun for its diligence to duty this past year, and a cup of coffee in the morning to welcome the sun, encouraging it to show the same attentiveness in the new year. Easy peasy!

Here we are, riding the downhill side of 2022, about to land feet first into 2023. We have high hopes as we stand poised, at the stroke of midnight, to toss the 2022 calendar in the trash and pin up 2023. Nice clean squares waiting to be filled in with events, important dates to celebrate, and things to look forward to before it gets cluttered with appointments, bill reminders, and all the other things you need to put on the calendar so you don’t forget responsibilities. Come next December this pristine calendar, that holds so much hope for better days to come than those left behind, will look much like the one we toss out tonight. Battered, held together with paperclips, little squares filled with scribbles of places we needed to be, birthdays, anniversaries, funerals, bills, repairmen, first day of …, last day of…., and my favorite, vacations. But, there will be a big difference between the calendars of 2022 and 2023. The next 365 days will be like no others that have come before, because we haven’t lived them yet. Each one is new, and though in many ways they may be similar, like a snowflake they are not the same.

Tonight, however you choose to celebrate the coming of 2023, get ready to step into your future. Whatever it will be for you, my wish is that you will have everything you need to make it a memorable year; laughter, love, strength, courage, hopes, and dreams. God bless and Happy New Year!

It was the Sunday after Thanksgiving. The kids and grandkids had all gone home. It was now time to begin thinking about Christmas. The decorations, the cards, the gifts. We would go to Mass and then afterwards begin dragging out all things Christmas. Walking into church, I headed for an empty pew. As I looked toward the altar I missed a step, fighting down panic! This couldn’t be happening! Something isn’t right!

There, standing near the altar, dressed in purple and pink was the Advent Wreath!!! Wait! I thought we had another week! Doesn’t Advent start next weekend? This was still November! Something was wrong, and apparently it was my math, for all through Mass Father kept talking about the four weeks of preparation we have until Christmas. “Stop saying that! This was all wrong! Don’t we have five weeks?” But, then he said it again, “Christmas is four weeks from today”.

Advent means “coming”, or “arrival”, particularly of someone of great importance. Father was trying to prepare us for the coming of the Christ child. After all, that’s what Christmas is all about, and it’s his job. My heart was hearing that message, but…

What my ears heard were accusations, “Christmas is coming in four weeks! You are not prepared! You have no decorations up, no gifts, no cards, no ‘dreaded’ Christmas letter written for friend and family to read!” I needed to get out of there. Precious minutes were drifting away as I sat there, and I was already late! Then he said it again, “Christmas is only four weeks away”. I gotta go!

In a chaotic flurry of activity that only women know, and men can only hope to keep up with, the trimmings of Thanksgiving were stripped and boxed, Christmas ornaments were carefully being unwrapped, trees were going up as carols played in the background, wish lists were gathered, and the credit card was deployed for action! Things were heating up. Then things went a bit off the rails.

Next week we have a trip to Georgia with our son’s family to celebrate our grandson’s birthday. “Birthday!!” We have Christmas to prepare for, and now a birthday too!! It’s not like I didn’t know it was coming. He’s been around for awhile now. He’s going to be 8. These plans were made a couple of months ago. Time is up! All those gifts I have been “thinking” about required decisions and cash. It was essential they all get here in time for me to wrap and take with us, since we are not able to spend Christmas with them this year. Time to unleash “Amazon Prime”!

My sister called with a question, interrupting my shopping, and wanted to know why is it that you can place an ornament on the tree facing forward, and as soon as you let it go, it immediately swings around to face the wall? You try again, turning the hanger the other way, expecting it to face you now, but nope! It’s off in a flash, twisting itself on its own accord to face the wall again! It’s not gravity. It’s not some magnetic force. What gives? It happens to me as well, and I don’t have an answer for her. I suggest to her that we put them on, allowing them to face the wall, as though we don’t really care. Then when we’re done, simply turn the entire tree around. We’ll show them! There’s a reason we’re at the top of the food chain.

I step back to admire the three trees standing in the corner of our living room, with most of their ornaments facing forward. We have decorated them to look like a winter wonderland. Deep within the heat and humidity of southwest Florida, I imagine the cold chill upon my face, and the sting of snowflakes as they land upon my cheek, even though it is 84 degrees outside. The panic is left behind, and the true spirit of Christmas is fanning the flames of hope, peace, and joy in my heart.

Wait! I still haven’t written that “dreaded” Christmas letter!!!!

Back in April my husband, Kim and I planned a trip to see family. It fell through when Kim got sick and couldn’t travel. Of course we didn’t buy refundable tickets, because who does that? Perhaps “we” should do that! Instead, we took a chance, rolled the dice, and lost. It wasn’t a total loss. We retained most of our money in the form of a credit. Now to look at the calendar and try again. Frontier was only giving me until mid-July to make up my mind.

The clock was ticking and I was searching. Frontier could get us to our destination, but getting back was tricky. Every combination involved an overnight flight. What am I, 20?! No, no, no! None of these would work for me. Our only options was two one-way tickets. Frontier could get us there, and American could get us back on a more civilized flight. Perfect! Or was it?

Our trip was over 4 months away when I received an email from Frontier letting me know they had to made a change to my reservation. They didn’t change it! They cancelled it! What?! They could tell 4 months out that it just wasn’t going to work for them? They said “sorry”. Well, okay then. I took the refund they offered, but now what? I have a return ticket on American, that again isn’t refundable, because somethings you just have to learn over, and over again! United stepped up to the plate, and hit it out of the park. We were good to go!

I bought an upgraded ticket so I could choose my own seat, but was annoyed to find there would be an extra charge depending on just where that seat might be. The seat map looked like anything inside the plane would be extra! Let me explain the only seats you don’t have to pay extra for. The middle seats, and the last row. The middle goes without saying, the last because they don’t recline. The exception being the middle seat in the row that has extra leg room. That’s a preferred seat, and will cost you $18. Let me assure you, the middle seat on any airplane, extra leg room or not, is NOT a preferred seat! I’m not quite 5 feet tall. I don’t need the extra leg room. I want the aisle. And for that privilege I needed to pony up $28. Kim got the middle seat. It was free!

Just what makes a seat “preferred”? Extra leg room? Okay, I get it. Aisle seat anywhere on the plane? A lot of us like that. Makes it easy to get to the lavatory. However, you do have to get up for everyone else in your row who needs to use the facilities, and when someone gets their bag out of the overhead bin, there is a 50/50 chance you’re going to get hit in the head with it. I think that makes it a break even. The window seat might be valid. You can mind your own business, take a nap, or enjoy the scenery, but the exit row? Let’s think about it. If you sit there you are responsible for opening the window exit in the event of an emergency, throwing it out of the way, and hoping that panicked passengers behind don’t stampede you in an effort to get out. It’s a heavy burden. You get little training, except the directions on the emergency card, and suddenly you’re a quasi employee! Shouldn’t they be paying you to sit there? But, here is the real puzzler. The first leg of our trip I had to pay for that “preferred” seat I wanted. On the connecting flight we are seated in the same row, in the same seats, on a different airplane, but the same aircraft type. These seats are now NOT preferred, and free! What? If these are free, why aren’t the others free? I want answers United!

A week later I get an email from American saying that our reservation has changed. What now?! I’m afraid to look! Our once comfortable 1-1/2 hour layover in Charlotte, would now be 4 delightful hours!!! How do they already know they are going to be running late?

I don’t really have a beef with the airline industry. It’s a tough job coordinating flights, scheduling crew members, gate assignments, baggage handling, security, mechanical issues, weather problems, and a dozen other things I have either forgotten or didn’t know. They don’t need the public scrutinizing everything that doesn’t go just right. I don’t complain because of a weather delay. Who wants to be 30,000 feet above the ground in a storm, hoping the dynamics of flight somehow overcomes the laws of gravity? I don’t get upset when there’s a mechanical delay. Think that one through to its logical conclusion. A critical part on your car breaks, and you are suddenly dead in the water. You pull over to the side of the road and call AAA. A critical part breaks on your airplane, and now you’re hoping that guy who paid extra for the exit row, committed those instruction to memory! Four bonus hours in Charlotte? Whatever, we’ll get home eventually.

“There’s a snake in the window!”, she blurted excitedly while pointing. Stunned, three voices responded in unison, “Inside or out?!” Mariah’s mind was processing the question, but it was as if her voice was tangled up, and all she managed to get out was, “In the window!”

That didn’t answer the question, and it was a very important distinction. I had been sitting in a chair next to the window, bouncing my youngest grandson on my lap, when the excitement began. The window my daughter, Mariah, was pointing to was 6 inches off my left shoulder! Okay, maybe 12. Let’s not quibble over the distance. What’s important is that Drayke and I were close! Too close! What followed was a cacophony of voices in my own head, asking pertinent questions and demanding action! My muscles became confused by the mental ruckus, leaving me motionless while waiting for some brainy decision to be made.

The answer I wanted first was the one referring to the precise location of said serpent. Inside or outside?! Which is it?! But Mariah’s tongue couldn’t seem to find those words in the fraction of a second I had to decide what to do! At 64, with a argumentative back, and a toddler on my lap, it didn’t seem prudent to attempt a forward flip from a seated position. A feat that most certainly would be deserving of an Olympic gold medal, and a standing ovation! The standard “tuck and roll” maneuver was conceivably a better option, but the end result would leave Drayke and I, albeit farther from the window, on the floor! Not my first choice. I can get on the floor no problem. Getting off the floor is like solving one of those mind-bending puzzles that requires you to cipher which piece to move first. Though I would have the advantage of adrenalin, it might be wise to take a breath. A voice of reason in my brain shouted to be heard, “Act! Don’t react!”

Swiveling my head to get a bead on this snake, I noticed Mariah hadn’t moved from her position. A good sign. If it had been “in” the house she would have at least been standing on the table, if not in the backyard, abandoning us to fend for ourselves. My eyes searched quickly! Yep, there it was, outside flicking his tongue in and out. He appeared to be looking for a way in! I guess even snakes are searching for some relief from the hot and steamy Florida summer! We attempted to spin what the snake looked to be doing. Drayke may be too young to understand what we were saying, but my granddaughter is not. Nobody wanted her having nightmares about a snake in the house! We did see a small lizard that was observing this snake as intently as we were. I didn’t really want my young grandchildren to learn about survival of the fittest up close, but our slithering friend seemed to be ignoring the lizard, and just poking around the edges of the screen for a weak spot in our fortress. He did not find one, I am relieved to announce.

It was a great opportunity for the kids to observe him. We identified him as a rat snake, or a young black racer, and explained to Aurora that he is a good snake, but not all snakes are, so we never touch a snake. A good motto for staying out of the ER due to an identification error. We watched him for quite a while, moving across the windowsill, and through the bushes until he disappeared. Disappeared?! Where did he go? I don’t know! He was no longer in the bush, or the windowsill. He had to cross the walkway to get to the yard, but I didn’t see him do that!

Left with a mystery, Drayke would return to the window several times throughout the day. He wanted to watch the snake some more, but he was gone. However, I’ve no doubt we haven’t seen the last of him.

Dusty, our son-in-law, had gone to the garage through the kitchen, leaving the door open behind him. He was now backing up, staring in the direction of the common wall between the garage and the house. His eyes were big, searching, and the sounds coming from his throat were not words, yet convincingly expressed anxiety! What now? I’ve never known Dusty to be afraid of any vermin, so what fresh horror could this possibly be that had his rapt attention? Whatever it was, I was sure I wasn’t going to like it. “What is it?!” Mariah shouted. “Is it the snake?!” Dusty couldn’t seem to answer! Who had stolen everyone’s voice this day?!!!! Mariah declared that the best course of action was to just close the door and torch the garage. Dusty gained his voice, lest Mariah should go searching for matches. Pointing he declared, “It is the biggest wolf spider I have ever seen, and it just scampered across my hand”, as he had reached for a box against the wall!

Stepping with trepidation into the garage, together we looked to where he was pointing. I said, “That’s not a wolf spider. I’ve seen one before. That’s a cane spider!” I had encountered my first one when our son lived in Maui. It’s a special breed of BIG! He had to go! The particulars of how he left the vicinity was not my concern…..This was shaping up to be one exciting day!

“Ouch!” Jerking back her hand, dropping the shoe, and swearing not so softly, she did her best not to panic! She entered the house through the garage and walked quickly to the kitchen. She didn’t want to alarm her grandchildren. Swiftly her mind raced with questions about what to do next, but the pain was numbing her brain, making it difficult to think. It was early in Arizona, but it wasn’t in Florida, so she called.

My sister, Susan, had been shaking out her granddaughter’s shoes which had been left in the garage overnight. A smart practice anywhere, but especially in the desert southwest. As she did, an Arizona Bark Scorpion fell out, skittering across her hand, jabbing it’s stinger into her thumb on his way to escape! This species of scorpion is the most venomous in the United States. Unless you’re a young child, or elderly it most likely won’t kill you, but before it’s over, you might think it will.

When I answered the phone I could hear the pain in her voice and knew something was very wrong. I listened carefully as she explained what happened and what she was feeling. In only moments her hand was tingling and turning numb as the fiery pain moved up her arm. Her eye began twitching and she was feeling dizzy. As she spoke I was rapidly Googling Arizona Poison Control. I suggested she put ice on it, which by the way, is not a good idea. It speeds up tissue damage. Instead a cold compress is best. Instead she plunged it in cold water. Not that it really helped anything.

Susan didn’t want to wake her husband up, but I pointed out that very soon, as these symptoms increased, she would not be able to safely get her grandchildren ready for school, let alone drive them there! She made the call. Drilling down I was able to find a phone number that specifically deals with venom. I gave it to her and recommended she call it. I turned to Googling symptoms so we would know what to expect. This was probably going to get worse before it gets better. It did!

Poison Control told her that the venom could move throughout her system, increasing and spreading symptoms one by one for up to six hours. After that time they would gradually decrease. They would call her every hour to check on her, making sure it was just painful and not life threatening.

The venom spread and so did the tingling and numbness in her extremities, all of them! Her heart rate increased, but not alarmingly so. Both eyes were twitching, which gave her a headache. Along with the headache came dizziness, and together they made her nauseous. Through it all the pain never receded. I checked in as often as Poison Control did. I felt really bad for her. I knew it hurt and was scary, but there was nothing I could do. It just had to work its way out. At six hours there was nothing new to endure. Slowly the symptoms began to subside, though it took several days for the pain at the injection sight to go away. It was intense, and it’s not anything she ever cares to go through again. That was her granddaughter’s shoe that was harboring that scorpion. Can you imagine if….? I don’t even want to think it!

I was in Arizona two years ago when my mom died. We were cleaning up her back yard when Susan lifted a piece of wood that a scorpion was napping underneath. She told me to, “Step on it!” I was wearing flip flops! That was not going to happen. I grew up in Arizona too. I know this isn’t how things are done! Then last week she texts me a picture of a scorpion in her washing machine! The “what ifs…” and “how the heck…” comprise a long list of questions and possibilities! They have a problem out there!

I’m telling you this story, because this is the same sister that won’t come see me in Florida. Why? Because we have alligators! Gators are stealthy for how large they are, but I can assure you I will never find one napping in my shoe, or curled up in my washing machine!!!

Shoe shopping can be fun, but not for me. I have to shop online. Try walking into any store looking for a size 5 that doesn’t have a Disney character, or flashing lights….dare you! It can happen, but it’s rare and not worth the hunt. Online it is.

My latest search was for what I call a tennis shoe, but technically probably isn’t. It looks like one, but no laces. It simply slips on and off. I’m not interested in tying and untying laces every time I want to put on, or take off my shoes. You may call it lazy. I call it efficient. I have a high arch, so good arch support is a must, but it’s the soles that get my primary attention. You heard me. I don’t care how cute they are. If the soles look like they might slip on a wet sidewalk, floor, or driveway they are not in the running for my consideration.

Several years ago I slipped on a wet hardwood floor. One foot firmly fixed to the area rug while the other stepped innocently into an invisible puddle of water on the wood. I was going down and there was nothing I could do. The problem was the foot on the rug. It was anchored like an NFL linebacker refusing to give up ground. All the while my left foot was sliding like water over Niagara Falls. There was no stopping it. The result of such a sudden and violent fall was a ruptured hamstring. That rates a 10+ on the 10 pain scale. The longterm effect is a permanent divot in the back of my leg where my hamstring used to be, and an everlasting fear of falling.

I read the reviews, throwing out the high and the low. Someone is always going to find something to complain about. They live for it and I’m not interested. Then there are those that gush about their purchase. Are the shoes really that amazing, or are they just trying to justify spending $70 on a pair of tennis shoes? I know….some of you think that is cheap, but since nobody is paying me to play tennis in them, I think that’s high for a non-professional. I’m looking for key words and I find them.

“Good arch support”. We have a possibility. “Slip when wet”. Nope! Moving on. But my all time favorite is, “They survived Disney!” That’s the gold standard! I can’t tell you how many reviews I’ve read about different shoes that mention how they wore them all day at Disney and their feet didn’t hurt. That’s fantastic, but they are, at the very least, stretching the truth like a rubber band!!! I don’t care what you wear at Disney, by the end of the day your feet hurt! Okay, they don’t just hurt, they are killing you, and you’re pretty sure you’ll never walk again!!! There is no amount of padding, cushion, or arch support that can defeat Disney. I once saw a woman there wearing stilettos! Lord have mercy! What was she thinking?!

Have you watched people at the Disney parks walk? They enter the park all smiles, eager, and bouncing like Tigger. By the end of the day they resemble Eeyore. Their jaunty gait has turned into a shuffle, barely lifting their feet off the ground. They left those happy smiles somewhere on Small World. Their feet feeling like the “world” they just walked wasn’t all that “small”! The only thing they are eagerly looking for is the exit! Show me shoes that can really stand up to Disney and I’ll pay over my $70 threshold for them. They’d be worth every dime. Meanwhile, I’m back to looking at those non-slip soles. My gold standard.

Christmas is only a few days away and for a change I am ready, relaxed, enjoying the music of the season, and everything the Hallmark channel serves up. It was touch and go for a bit, but not for the reasons you might think.

The post office is the dreaded destination of December. Can you get Christmas stamps? How long are the lines? Will my package get to its destination in time? All good questions, but there is a step in there that has to take place before you can venture so far as the post office. That’s right! It’s not the shipping. It’s the wrapping of gifts!

I discovered this December that I am the world’s slowest gift wrapper! What the heck takes me so long? I’ll admit I’m a little methodical. I love those lines on the back of the wrapping paper that guide you so you make a straight cut, and don’t end up with a piece of paper that makes it look like you’ve been drinking since breakfast! I have no idea how we managed to wrap gifts before the turn of the century without such guidance.

I have the tape and the scissors close at hand. The gift tags and marker are within reach. I’ve cleared the table of everything, so that there are no impediments to my progress and yet an hour has passed and I have successfully wrapped three presents. What!? That can’t be! I turn the Christmas music up a bit louder. Maybe that will encourage me to pick up the speed.

It’s not helping that the tape instantly wraps around my fingers like a chimpanzee with a death grip on a banana. What is the deal with that? While I’m wrestling with the tape the clock is ticking, and my painstakingly exact paper creases are wandering from their precise locations, requiring me to get them course corrected before attempting to tear another strip of tape and secure it to the gift before it tapes two of my fingers together. If I were an elf in Santa’s workshop I’d be in serious jeopardy of being fired! He’s on a schedule you know. Well, he’s not the only one!

I have a fair number of gifts to wrap, and though time is of the essence it hasn’t dwindled down to critical….yet! My favorite ones are those that come in a nice square box. They make for easy wrapping. You’ll notice I said “easy”, not “fast”. Somehow fast eludes me, no matter what shape the package is. The dreaded ones are those that are round, or odd shaped that fit in no box you happen to have on hand leaving me to wing it. Winging it usually results in a present that looks slightly south of appealing. To make up for it I add a few bows. Bows make everything more festive, even a package that looks like I wrapped the cat!

Every day for three days I tell my friend Martha, “I’m wrapping presents today.” She can’t believe I am still at it, and thinks my packages must look beautiful. Like something out of Martha Stewart’s Christmas magazine. She’d be wrong, but who am I to say anything different. “Of course they do!”

Whatever the gifts look like under your tree; whether tied in pretty ribbon, or what might be mistaken for the family cat; whether there are many or few, know that the greatest gift of all lies beneath the pretty paper and the bows. It is love. Merry Christmas and God bless you all.

We bought a house back in December, 2020. The interior needed to be painted. There were other priorities, and interruptions, but finally a couple of months ago we were ready to start slinging paint. We had the usual discussion about whether we should do this ourselves, or hire someone. Hire someone? Are you crazy? This is paint, not rocket science. Since when were we “those people” who could afford to hire a painter? We’ve got this! We waffled over color and satin vs semi-gloss, but finally came to an agreement and set out to gather supplies.

What came next was the realization that there is a reason painters get paid so much. Do painters even like to paint? Has painting always been hard, or is it just because we’re older now, and a lot of things are hard? I do know that painting the ceiling is something to be dreaded while being endured. It’s safe to say if you are painting the ceiling you are going to need more than a couple of aspirins. At the very least when buying tarps, paint brushes, rollers, and paint you need to throw in an ice pack or two. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to find out how much it is to hire someone to just paint the ceiling? After crunching the numbers we concluded, “Not happening. We can do this.”

We’re chunking it down. Not trying to paint the whole house in a weekend. Starting with the master bath, we did not declare it done until all the trim work was complete as well. That took a bit longer than we expected. Okay, a lot longer, but there were learning curves. That’s the very reason I wanted to start in a room that doesn’t get seen by a lot of people. I figured by the time we get to the more common rooms in the house we would be experts at it. I’m hoping we’re a whole lot faster at it too. There is chunking down and then there is painstakingly slow! We need to step it up! After all, this isn’t a government road construction project! 2021 doesn’t need to turn into 2022 before we’re done!

I asked my sister, who paints her house quite often, for advice on brushes, how to get clean edges, stuff like that. She had a lot of advice and even more encouragement, but when I mentioned the doors were six panel she was oddly silent and just said, “Oh”. After painting, and repainting, and trying several different techniques, adding some colorful language to my brush strokes to soak up some frustration I called her back. Confronting her about her silence on the subject she said, “They’re hard. I didn’t want to discourage you.” That was kind of her, but a word of warning might have been good. I thought they were going to be a breeze. I could have painted the bathroom twice in the amount of time it took me to do those doors!

We were proud of how the master bathroom turned out and decided to move on to the hall bathroom. Our thoughts were that we could knock this room out fairly quickly based on size alone. Quick gratification would be a big win for us. Because it’s small we wouldn’t be able to work as a team, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t help. I removed all the wall decor, helped take down all the hardware, and removed the rugs. My husband, Kim, was now free to paint the ceiling. One of the lamp covers broke on the vanity light fixture. Swell! I went to work on the internet to order a replacement. I could find it nowhere! Are you kidding?! It wasn’t unusual, but we had no choice. We’d have to replace the entire fixture. Okay, not the end of the world. I narrowed the search by price. Anything over $110 was deemed extravagant. It’s a bathroom, not the centerpiece of my living room. If you’re in the bathroom long enough to critique the lighting you’ve been in there too long!

It was right about that time that I heard some pretty weighty swearing coming from the bathroom. I knew this was more serious than Kim dropping a gallon of paint on the floor. I could hear it in his voice. Something bad had happened! Really bad! He wasn’t screaming, so I deduced he wasn’t hurt. I considered for a second or two if I really wanted to find out what happened or not. Cautiously I got up. Peering in everything looked fine, but looks can be deceiving. Upon closer inspection I could see that the foot of the ladder had punched a significant hole in the bathtub! Well, at least Kim had finished painting the ceiling.

I did what everyone does when faced with a crisis, I turned to YouTube. “I wonder if we can fix this ourselves?” Turns out “you” can. Turns out “we can’t”! I watched a lengthy video which included a sander, layers of fiberglass, two separate concoctions of stuff I have no idea what it was, buffing, and more goo. I didn’t need to watch the entire thing to know this was way out of our ballpark! What we needed was a plumber and a new bathtub. Our painting job had just become a remodel job!

Replacing a bathtub might not be hard, but plumbers, besides being expensive are busy. What was needed for this job was a boatload of cash and more patience than I have. But when you’re in over your head you have no choice except wait. Since I don’t wait well we’ll shift gears and paint the guest room. What could possibly go wrong in there?

Have you ever wondered how some things have gotten their name and then thought, “How could they have gotten that so wrong?” One of those things is the beach cruiser. Doesn’t that just conjure up an image of riding your fat tire bike along the beach, floating along on the surface of the sand, visually savoring the blue water and salt air breeze? Only in the movies my friends. Only in the movies!

To be fair I may not have a top of the line beach cruiser, but I have a Jamis. A decent bike, beefy, with fat tires, so I was expecting something a little different than what I got. Cruising along on a paved trail near my house I decided to turn around and head back home. I thought, I’ll just turn around here in this wide sandy spot.

Have you ever seen those runaway truck ramps on a mountain pass and wondered if they would really be able to stop an 18 wheeler as it is barreling down a mountain road? Well, the answer is yes! Sand has an amazing power to bring everything that touches it to a grinding impasse! We live near the beach and go there often. I can walk perfectly fine at a decent clip, if necessary, across the parking lot, but hit that deep sand as you step off the boardwalk and it’s all over. I am slogging now! I’ll admit it helps if you have big feet. They work more like snowshoes, but even so, nobody walks gracefully on sand unless, you guessed it, it’s in the movies!

Back to my beach cruiser and my “sandy” spot. I rolled onto that sand and pushed those pedals hard for two full revolutions. I thought I’d make it, and then I stopped! Regardless of how hard I tried to force those pedals around they would not move. Those fat tires were firmly embedded in sand, and I was going nowhere! Crying “Uncle”, I dismounted. A better choice than falling over. Beach cruiser my eye!!

Nice bike. Fun to ride. Makes me feel like a kid again. But, “beach cruiser”? Cute name!